The One He Left Behind
by DelilaJules
Summary: When Joan uncovers a stationary when cleaning one day, will she discover Sherlock's pain-filled past in London? R&R. Also some slight JoanxSherlock if I feel up to it.
1. Dear Jane

**A/N: So I've noticed how there aren't a lot of fan fictions for this TV show (probably because its new), and I decided to help fix that. Originally I only wanted to have 2 stories at a time, but... well I couldn't help it.**

**So here y'all go:**

* * *

Joan Watson let out an exasperated sigh as she noticed yet another pile of garbage sitting in the living room. For someone who complained so much about the condition of the flat, Sherlock Holmes seemed to be set on keeping the place in the state of a pig-sty.

She swept the trash into the bulging plastic bag. "What's this?" she asked herself, picking up the sheet of paper. "Well, who would have thought Sherlock was one to write letters?" She read the letter to herself:

_Dear Jane,_

_My work in New York has been rather successful, if I do say so. I also should probably inform you I was told about the complaint. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn't mind, but you've basically gone through-_

"Why are you reading my personal mail?" Sherlock asked harshly, snatching the letter out of Joan's hands. He crumbled the paper up into a ball and threw it onto the growing pile coming out of his trash bin.

"Someone's in a good mood today," Joan joked.

He glanced briefly at her. "Well I am not exactly _fond_ of people snooping in my mail."

"So, who is this 'Jane'?" Joan asked.

"A friend." He paused, studying her face. "An... estranged friend."

She pointed at the pile of crumbled papers. "And those, are they all letters to her?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "C'mon. There is a homicide that is in need of my attention."

* * *

"Wayne Phillips," the cop explained. "41. Successful businessman, had a wife and 7-year-old daughter. We're ready to rule it as a suicide, but the family wanted to run it by you first."

"It's not a suicide," Sherlock announced confidently.

'You're kidding, right?" the cop said in annoyed disbelief. "It's a straight-out-of-the-book hanging. How can you rule out suicide right off the bat?"

"You're absolutely right about one thing," he said. "It looks like the perfect suicide. Too perfect. Besides, he had everything he could want. He was rich, had a family. Had no indication of being suicidal."

"Just because he didn't show signs doesn't mean he wasn't," the cop argued.

Sherlock pointed to the lacerations on Phillips's wrists."Notice the lack of bleeding? That's because these were done post-mortem. And there is one crucial thing missing. The platform of some sort which he would stand on before hanging himself."

The cop thought about this for a moment. "So you're saying he was murdered?"

"It would seem so, yes. You should have your M.E do an autopsy. I expect they'll find that hanging was not the cause of death."

The cop's mouth formed a small line of frustration. "Well then..."

Suddenly a woman with fiery red hair walked over to Sherlock. "Are you Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

He nodded. "I am."

The woman extended her hand. "I'm Anna Phillips, the one who asked you to come investigate Wayne's death." She motioned with her hand toward a small girl playing with dolls in the corner of the room. "That's my daughter, Cleo."

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well I can assure you that I am working to the best of my ability to catch your husband's killer."

She looked confused. "You mean he was murdered?"

He nodded. "I have reason to believe so."

"Oh," Mrs. Phillips said quietly.

"Well," Sherlock continued. "I suppose I shall just get to work then."

"I suppose you shall."

* * *

Sherlock Holmes rested his head in his hands as he searched his mind for what to say. He _should _know what to say to her. And he _shouldn't _have such a problem with this. Why is it that writing a stupid letter was so difficult!?

Alright, let's try this again.

_Dear Jane,_

* * *

**Yeah.. coming up with the crime scene was actually pretty hard for me.**

**So who do you think Jane is?**

**Review please!**

**I'll update hopefully by next week.**

**~Delila Jules**


	2. Somebody That I Used To Know

**It's good to see I have some fans out there already!**

**I decided (with a little persuasion) to update sooner than I planned to.**

**But these reviews have made me smile a lot, especially since my week's been really crappy, and I have a feeling it's only the beginning.**

**And I also want to see who can figure out the two songs in this chapter. The second one is basically a dead give-away, but the first is a little harder.**

**But these are songs I actually listen to.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

**London, UK (...did I get that right? I'm not sure.)**

_"Hey  
Don't write yourself up yet  
It's only in your head you feel left out  
Or looked down on_

_Just try your best  
Try everything you can  
And don't you worry what they tell themselves  
When you're away_

_It just takes some time  
Little girl  
You're in the middle  
Of the ride  
Everything, everything will be just fine  
Everything, everything will be alright, alright_

_Hey, you know they're all the same-"_

"Jane! _Jane!_" The door swung open. "Honestly, sometimes I think you're actually _trying _to go deaf."

"Quiet," Jane hushed, not moving her eyes from the cream coloured wall of her dorm room. "I'm focusing, Kendra."

"Yeah?" Kendra said. "Well you'd better _focus_ on getting your butt downstairs. They're doing mail call."

"And if I decide that I suddenly have come down wit a terrible illness that prevents me from going to said mail call?" Jane asked.

"Then you'd probably be _focus_ing on being in trouble... again."

"Okay. Hey, can you help me up?"

Kendra chuckled. "Jane, I think maybe it's time for you to stop climbing up that wall."

Jane smiled. "Not a problem. After all, I have three others at my dispense."

Kendra rolled her eyes at her friend's remark and pulled Jane's arm towards the main hall where mail call was. "Are you ever going to learn?"

* * *

Jane took one glance at her letter and tossed it in the trash bin. She, for one, has more important things to do. Not really, but she hadn't read a single one of the letters, and she wasn't about to start. She propped her heals on the wall and stared boredly at the ceiling.

Kendra gasped, looking up from her science report. "Jane Bennet! You did _not_ just throw away that letter!"

Jane sighed, watching the ceiling fan spin around. "Relax. It's just junk mail."

Kendra picked the letter out of the bin. "It isn't junk mail! It's a letter! And all the way frm the Big Apple, too! Why'd you throw it away!?"

Jane shrugged. "I guess 'cause I don't want to read it." There was a tearing sound. "Kendra, you had better not be opening my mail. Give me it."

"_Please!_" Kendra whined.

Jane held out her hand, waiting untill Kendra placed the letter in it. "Thank you." She got up and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"The library."

Kendra sighed. "Well don't expect me to cover for you."

"I never do," Jane said as she walked down the hallway. The library was on the right, and it wasn't a long walk. She probably wouldn't get caught. Probably.

She listened to the hum of the shredder in the darkness. Kendra could not see the letter now.

But what she didn't know was that Kendra was following her, determined to read the letter. She carefully the strips out of the shredder and taped them together.

_Dear Jane,  
How are you?  
My work in New York is going rather well, if I say so. I've been slightly preoccupied here.  
You should also probably know I was informed about your latest incident. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn't mind, but you've basically gone through at least half of the boarding schools in Britain, and my budget is a bit low.  
This new case I have is rather interesting, although I won't go into detail, seeing as mail is usually given around dinner._

_-Sher_

"Jane? Who is Sher?" Kendra asked, walking back into the dorm room.

Jane's eyes widened. "You read my letter, didn't you!?"

"No I didn't. It was written on the envelope."

"No it wasn't! And you have grease from the shredder on your fingers!"

Kendra looked at her hands. " Okay... maybe I read it. Just tell me who Sher is!"

Jane picked up her iPod and put it on shuffle. "Nobody," she said coldly. "Sher is no one." She rested her head on the floor and closed her eyes as the first song hit the chorus.

_But you didn't have to cut me off  
Make out like it never happened  
And that we were nothing  
And I don't even need your lover  
But you treat me like a stranger  
And that feels so rough._

_No you didn't have to stoop so low  
Have your friends collect your records  
And them change you number  
I guess that I don't need that though_

Jane sang along to the last line of the chorus. _"Now you're just somebody that I used to know."_

* * *

**I believe that's what you call 'symbolism'.**

**When I was typing up this chapter, I got a text message from Snapple with my daily 'Real Fact', so I decided to put that pn here.**

**An average of three billion cups of tea are consumed daily worldwide.**

**REVIEW PLEASE!**

**Why?**

**Because reviews make me smile. And smiling makes me think. And thinking makes me write. And writing makes me type. AND TYPING MAKES ME UPDATE!**

**So who can figure out the first song?  
**

**~Delila Jules**


	3. A Promise

**YAY!**

**ANOTHER REVIEW!**

**That means 4!**

**Can I get five?**

**Anyway, here's chapter 3 because I've written up to chapter 6 right now and I have something big planed.**

* * *

**-New York City, New York-**

"Watson!" Sherlock yelled, pounding on Joan's bedroom door.

She swung the door open. "Sherlock! What are you doing!? It's Saturday!"

"And?"

"Well most people don't work on Saturdays."

"You work everyday," he pointed out.

She bit her lip. "That's different."

"Not really."

Joan rolled her eyes. There was really no sense in arguing with him. "Well then."

He turned around. "You should probably get dresses instead of just standing there."

She looked confused. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to Wayne Phillips's place of employment." He grabbed his coat.

"Why would you possibly need to go there?" Joan asked.

"To understand his relationships with his co-workers, of course," he said as if it was highly obvious.

"Right, of course." With a sigh, Joan went back into her room to get dressed.

* * *

**~Wayne Phillips's Place Of Business~**

The woman had a look of unease on her face as Holmes and Watson walked over to her desk. "I assume you're here to ask me about Wayne," she started. "Tim told me what happened. I just can't believe that someone would want to murder him. He-"

"Wait. Who is Tim?" Sherlock asked. No one had ever publicized the fact that Phillips was murdered.

"He was one of Wayne's friends. Why...?" the woman said nervously.

"Is he in today by any chance?"

"No," the woman replied. "If you think he did it, you're wrong. Those two were closer than brothers. Tim sounded scared out of his mind just talking about it."

"Well then, how did Mr. Phillips get along with everyone else here?"

The woman smiled. "He was a great boss. Liked to keep things friendly between everyone at the office."

"Is there anything that would make someone not like him?" Sherlock asked.

She thought about the question for a moment. "He was big on the truth. Frankness. And sometimes that would get him in trouble."

He nodded. "I'll need his files."

"Sure. Anything to catch whoever did this."

* * *

**~11 pm~**

Sherlock sat in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by papers and manila folders.

Joan walked over to him. "Why are you still up?"

"Because none of it makes sense. There is absolutely no one under the employment of Phillips by the name of Tim. No one."

"Well maybe something will come to you in a dream," she suggested.

"Not very likely."

Joan started to pick up the files. "Try it anyway."

He paused. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

She smiled. "Good."

Sherlock got up and made his way to his bedroom. "Good night, Watson."

"Good night, Sherlock."

He layed in his bed, thinking abut the case, unable to get to sleep. As he layed there thinking, he felt himself slowly grow more and more tired. About 20 minutes later, he finally started to drift off.

_Ring! Ring!_

He groaned and felt around for his cell phone. "Holmes," he answered.

"Hello?" came a small voice.

"Who is this?" Sherlock asked, glancing at the caller I.D. He didn't recognize the number.

"Mommy said you're finding out what happened to my daddy. Is that true?"

"It is," Sherlock said evenly, remembering how Phillips had a daughter. Cleo.

"Will you catch the man who killed him?" Cleo asked.

"I can try," he replied.

"No, you have to promise."

He smiled lightly at this. "Alright," he said. "I promise."

* * *

**Okay, first of all, I cannot even describe how angry I was with the episode last night. That little piece at the end messes up ALL my plans. So I guess if I can't find a way to work that in there, this would be classified as 'AU'. I think.**

**~Delila Jules  
**

**REVIEW!  
**


	4. Strike Three, You're Out

**Okay, so remember how I was so angry about last week's episode? Not anymore!**

**Last night, for some reason, I had a MAJOR breakthrough that solved the whole Irene problem. Which is no longer a problem, since I am now using it to my advantage.**

**So in other words, loved last night's episode!**

**Who's with me?**

**Now its time for chapter 4...**

* * *

**~London, UK~**

Jane tapped her pencil against the desk as the teacher continued to lecture about... well, something. She began counting the floor tiles. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7-

"Miss Bennet?"

Jane jerked her head up. "Hmm?"

"Can you answer the question?"

_No. _"What question?" she asked.

"The one I asked you."

She looked down. "I didn't hear it."

"And why is that?"

She bit her lip. "Um..."

"What? You have something better to do than get an education?"

"Do you want just one?" she asked, annoyed by the disrespect of the teacher. " 'Cause I got a lot."

"Oh really? Well, maybe you'd care to share them with the Headmaster. In his office."

"Okay," she said sweetly. She smiled and waved to the class. "Bye guys!"

The teacher grabbed Jane's arm and dragged her to the office marked 'Headmaster'.

"Hello Paul," Jane greeted, taking a seat in the chair across from a middle aged man. "How are you today?"

"Jane, you're aware that this school has a three-strike policy, correct?" the Headmaster asked.

"You're kicking me out," Jane stated.

"What makes you think that?"

Jane smirked. "Because you mentioned the three-strike policy, and I've already used up two. So that means you're either kicking me out or giving me one last shot. Second option doesn't exactly sound likely."

He nodded. "Yes well, three strikes is-"

"Three major offenses," Jane finished. "Just skip the stuff I already know."

He sighed. "You'll need to speak with your... payer."

Jane pulled out her cell phone. "Hey, Alan? No. Yes. That I need to look for a new school. Not really. No. Why? So? _He _is the one who left. Look, just call him."*

"Who was that?" the Headmaster asked.

"An associate," Jane said. She stood up. "I guess I'll be packing my things then."

The Headmaster nodded. "I wish I didn't have to do this."

She headed towards the door. "You know Paul, I actually thought I was going to last here."

"We all did, Jane."

* * *

When Jane got back up to her dorm room, Kendra was there waiting for her. She looked sad. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

Jane nodded. "Can you help me pack?"

"Was the thing in class strike three?" Kendra asked while putting clothes in Jane's suitcase.

"Uh-huh."

Kendra shook her head. "You need to learn to tame your mouth. Before you say something to the wrong person."

Jane laughed. "I'll be fine."

A picture suddenly fluttered to the floor. "Hey," Kendra said, picking it up. "Are these your parents?"

"Yeah," Jane replied. "Their dead."

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

It's okay," Jane said. "I'm way over it."

"Alright then." Kendra looked up at her. "I'm going to miss you, Jane."

"Me too."

* * *

**Yeah, this was sort of a filler.**

**Sorry about that.**

**As for the picture: People lie.**

**And the star:**

***Note: It doesn't show yo what Alan says.**

**Just wanted to make sure nobody got confused.**

**And for those of you who take the time to read my little notes, you're in luck :)**

**I have something VERY interesting planned for chapter 7... but for now I'll let you all wonder what it might be.**

**Oh, and it's chapter title will be 'Blacking Out'.  
**

**And ideas?  
**

**ALSO: How many of you know that feeling when your teacher calls on you, but you have no idea what they were talking about? I know I do... Poor Jane...  
**

**REVIEW!  
**

**~Delila Jules**


	5. A Lead

**Seeing as I am on chapter 7 currently, I decided to post another chapter today. And also because I got bored.**

**Dancing Purple Hippos!**

**So here's chapter 5:**

* * *

**New York City, New York**

"Mornin', " Joan greeted, finding Sherlock carefully studying some photos. "Isn't this the exact state I left you in last night?"

"No. I went to sleep."

"I can tell," she said, noting the blanket and pillow on the floor. "What time?"

"Maybe around 3 or 4 a.m."

Joan sat down in one of the chairs. "So, I've never been to London. What's it like?"

"Crowded. Busy. Dangerous."

This was going to be harder than she'd thought. "What was it like for you?" She looked him in the eyes. "Sherlock, I know there's something that happened back there, and whatever it was, it changed you. What was it?"

His face turned solemn."Its amazing, you know."

"What's amazing?" Joan asked with confusion.

"How you can loose everything you have in a second." He turned his attention away from the distant memory and back to the numerous papers scattered over the floor. "At his workplace, no his house, no Tim. There is no record of any Tim. But guess who Wayne Phillips _is_ seen with on many occasions?"

"Who?" Joan asked, setting the London conversation aside for now.

"Rob Jarson." He held up a picture. "The police officer at the crime scene. A _very_ peculiar coincidence."

"Maybe he just wanted to figure out what happened to friend," she suggested.

"I doubt it," he said. "Jarson literally _just_ joined the force around Wayne Phillips's presumed time of death. Why? Because he knew he would get this case. He would never be suspected, with the added benefit of all of the evidence being available to him. Rob Jarson is Tim, and Tim killed Phillips."

"Alright, so you've got a theory," Joan stated. "Now how do you prove it?"

"I'm not exactly sure," he admitted. "But this had better be enough to have Gregson bring him in."

* * *

**~NYPD Homicide Unit Interrogation Room~ **

"Hello Jarson," Captain Gregson greeted, taking a seat across from the surprisingly calm detective. "How's the Phillips case coming along?"

"Pretty well," he said.

"Really?" Gregson asked. "I heard that there was some evidence that went missing."

Jarson shrugged. "You know how stuff happens sometimes."

"Yeah." He waved his hand towards Sherlock, who was standing to the side of the room. "I believe you've met my consultant Mr. Holmes, right?"

Jarson nodded. "Yeah, he was at the crime scene. Why?"

Sherlock walked over. "Maybe we should be asking you that, Tim."

Jarson looked panicked for a brief second, but he quickly masked it behind an expression of perplexity. "Who's Tim?"

"You're quite good at acting, you know," Sherlock observed.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Tim laughed nervously.

"Yes you do," Sherlock said. "Because your body language suggests you're hiding something. You're not who you claim to be."

Tim threw his hands up defensively. "I'm not hiding anything. You have nothing to detain me for, so if you don't mind, I think I'll just get back to doing my job."

* * *

"He seems..." Joan began as she Sherlock walked up to the old brownstone.

"Like an arse?" Sherlock said.

Joan gave him a warning look. "I was going to say he seems pretty rude."

"I like my version better," he muttered as he unlocked the door.

"So do you think Jarson is really Tim?" Joan asked him.

He began picking up the papers that had been left on the floor from that morning. "I do not _think_ he is Tim, Watson, I _know_ he is."

"And just how are you so sure?" she asked.

His face turned cold. "I just am, okay!?" he snapped."And I will do _everything_ in my ability to make sure he pays for what he did!"

"Alright, sorry I asked," Joan said, picking up some of the papers. "Sherlock, what is it that's gotten you so worked up about this case?"

He sighed. "The girl... Cleo. No one should loose a parent at that age." His expression looked detached, like he was seeing something that wasn't there. He walked towards his room. "I... I think I'll head in for the night."

"But it's only 6:30," Joan said. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, are you okay?" she asked with a concerned tone. "You haven't..."

"No," he said. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I just... I just need to think about some things."

"Alright then," she replied. "If you want to talk, don't hesitate to ask."

He nodded once before closing the door and falling onto his bed. When he'd first met Joan, he'd thought maybe she would help him forget everything that happened in London. But now he had been wrong about that. Because instead of helping him forget, she was just making him remember it even more. No, she could never help him forget.

But maybe, just maybe, she could help him to heal.

* * *

**So there is your new morning chapter. Except it isn't morning. But it feels like it to me...**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

**P.s: If you do review, answer this question:**

**Okay, me and mt dad were arguing about music.**

**He says music shouldn't be played loud, I say it should.**

**Who is right?**

**I'm also polling it on my profile.**

**~Delila Jules**


	6. Mr Suit-Man

**A/N: Okay people... don't scare me like that EVER again!**

**It was seriously like everybody had disappeared off the face of the planet. I'm not kidding.**

**Apparently that one chapter was pretty uninteresting... sorry.**

**Two notes:**

**I didn't originally plan for Gregson to play a major role in this chapter, but as soon as I figured out what I was going to do, I realized something- She can't just be on the streets. So yeah, this is what happened with that.**

**I SWEAR I didn't plan that part about the plan. I was watching the episode and when he said he didn't like plane I was like 'HOLY HECK! THAT'S JUST LIKE... JUST WOW.'**

**So yeah.**

**And try your best to follow along in the long parts.**

* * *

**Plane (Yeah... couldn't really think of what else to call it. So there.)**

The departure had been nothing to her. Kendra had been visibly saddened, but she had felt nothing. Why? Because nothing in life was permanent. She, of all people, should know that best.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around. "Miss?" the flight attendant asked. "Are you alright? You seem distressed."

Jane nodded. "I'm fine. It's just my first time on a plane, and I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea of being suspended midair at..." She paused, looking uneasily out the small window. "30,000 feet above ground."

The attendant smiled warmly. "Can I get you anything?"

"No," she said. "Am I allowed to check my email?"

The attendant nodded. "We have on boad Wi-fi, but there's a fee."

"Okay. Thanks," Jane replied, reaching to get her laptop. Two new emails. The first one was from Alan.

_I've arranged for you to stay with someone named Captain Gregson untill you find a school, which might be a while, considering your reputation. He's a friend of mine, and I'm pretty sure he might have worked with your mother once or twice. He'll be waiting for you at JFK.  
-Alan_

Jane pulled out the picture of her parents and thought about what she had told Kendra. It wasn't a _total_ lie. Her mother was dead. And her father might as well be.

But all of that was back in London.

* * *

**JFK International Airport**

Jane looked around for the person who was supposed to be picking her up. What had Alan said his name was? Right, it was... um, Gregson. Captain Gregson. But now what? Didn't they usually hold up signs or something in the movies? Alan probably thought she knew what this 'Gregson' looked like. Okay, problem. She pulled out her cell phone and was about to call Alan when an older man with grey hair and blue eyes walked over to her.

He held out his hand. "Hi, I'm-"

"Mr. Gregson, I assume?" Jane asked. She glanced at his hand. "No thanks. Not that I'm a germaphob, but people transfer more germs shaking hand than they do by kissing, and they must transfer an awful lot of germs by kissing, you know, cause they swap spit and all that and because there are actually less bacteria in a person's urine than there is in their mouths. So considering how dirty a person's mouth is and yet more germs are transferred by shaking hands than kissing, that must make hands _really_ dirty, right?"

Gregson said nothing, just had a confused expression on his face.

"I lost you at germaphob, huh?" Jane said.

Gregson smiled nervously. "Yeah, basically."

Jane twirled her thumbs as the two of them walked past the enormous crowd of people. "I'm sorry for putting you in such an awkward situation."

"What makes you think it's an awkward situation?" he asked.

"Because of your demeanor," Jane stated. "You seem very uncomfortable around me. Well, either me or the airport, which the second wouldn't be likely unless you have either a fear of large crowds and/or a fear of people, or if like me, apparently, you have a fear of planes. And you don't seem like you have a fear of large crowds because you live in New York City, and for someone who does have a fear of large crowds, living in a place like this this would be a very unwise decision. Unless they were a recluse, which obviously you aren't since you work with the police department. And-"

He held up his hand. "Wait, how did you know I work with the police department?"

Jane smiled. "I see you were able to keep up with me that time. It's because Alan referred to you as 'Captain', so either you work on a boat or you work with the police department, and I can see your badge."

He chuckled. "Well I certainly do not work on a boat."

"And don't worry, you won't see that much of me," Jane said. "In fact, I have an appointment with the first Mr. Suit- Man tomorrow morning."

"Mr. Suit- Man?" Gregson asked confusedly.

"That's what I call the Headmasters because they dress all fancy," she explained.

Gregson waved down a taxi and the two got in. "How was the flight?" he asked.

Jane groaned. "Terrible! I couldn't get off of it fast enough. NEVER again, I swear."

He paused. "So it was pretty crappy, huh?"

"To put it simply, yes," she said. "And actually, there was a little video they played as 'on-board entertainment'. It was a soap opera or something like that. Except what I don't understand is why they call it a soap opera if it has absolutely nothing to do with soap or opera."

"I've never really thought about it that way before," he admitted.

"Most people don't. I guess I just tend to look deeper at things. Always have."

"You really remind me of someone else I know," Gregson commented.

"Can't imagine who."

He cleared his throat. "Well then, um, do you have all your stuff?"

She nodded. "And don't worry. I'll be out of your hair A.S.A.P."

* * *

**Later**

Gregson walked past the guest room towards the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.

"OW!"

He stopped suddenly and knocked on the door. "Jane? You okay?"

There was some scuffling. "Yeah... I'm fine," she yelled. "I just fell."

He pulled open the door to find her sitting in the middle of a blow up mattress, legs crossed.

"See?" she said. "I'm fine."

He smiled lightly and closed the door again, pulling out his cell phone.

_"Hey Gregson,"_ Alan's voice said through the phone. _"She settled in okay?"_

"Yeah," he replied. "And you were right. She _is_ just like him."

* * *

**Next chapter:**

**'Blacking Out'**

**Three words to give you a little peek: Pacing; Mess; Gurney.**

**Any predictions?**

**Thanks for reading! ! ! ! ! ! ! !**

**~Delila Jules**


	7. Blacking Out

**A/N: Okay, here's that big chapter that I've been hinting at several times. Why? You shall have to read to find out. But it is anything but boring, well, maybe in the beginning, but not my point.**

**And so the chapter begins...**

* * *

**Chapter 7 (Takes place after episode: "One Way To Get Off")**

Yet another week had passed and Sherlock was pacing. Again.

Joan watched him out of the corner of her eye but her mind continually strayed to what he had said last night. About Irene. He had said they were close. But how close, exactly, was 'close?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Sherlock began muttering to himself.

"I am absolutely _sure_ he did it, but there's no way I can prove it. " He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I mean, where is the motive?"

Joan blinked. "You were talking to me?"

"Well who else would I be talking to, Watson?" he asked. "The wall?"

"I just didn't realize-"

"Not important," he said. "What _is_ important is proving that Tim is the killer." Suddenly his cell phone began to ring. "Holmes," he answered.

"It's Jarson," Tim's voice said.

"Hello _Tim_," Sherlock responded.

"My name is _not _Tim," Jarson said. "Look, I want to clear this mess up."

"So you'd like to confess?"

"No, I mean- Just be at the pre-sync at 11:30. Sharp. I'll tell you what you need to know." And then came the dial tone.

"Was that him?" Joan asked. "Jarson? Tim? Whoever the heck he is?"

He turned around to face her. "I do hope you haven't made plans. We have a meeting tonight. 11:30 pm."

* * *

**11:25 (Because I couldn't think of anything to fill the gap. Don't worry. Just one more untill the good part.)**

Joan looked at him with concern. "Are you sure about this, Sherlock?"

"Absolutely," he said.

"But what if this is a trap?" she asked.

"Ha!" he commented as they walked out the door of the brownstone. "That won't happen, trust me."

"Trust isn't something that comes easy for me," she muttered as they got into the car. "So... is this mysterious Jane a safe topic."

He grimaced at the mention of the name.

"I guess not."

* * *

**Pre-sync (I promise that was the last of the boring parts.)**

_Ring. Ring._

"I see you made it on time," Tim's voice said through the phone. "Eighth floor. 10 minutes."

Sherlock and Joan got onto an elevator lift. "Sherlock, what's gong on?" Joan asked.

"Just follow me," he said calmly.

They got out of the lift on the eighth floor and Joan suddenly noticed the eerie echo their footsteps made as they walked briskly across the white and brown speckled floor. There was a silence throughout the entire building, which was not unusual considering it was almost midnight. But what _was_ unusual was that Jarson, Tim, whoever he was had chosen this time to meet with them. Apparently Sherlock had noticed this as well, for he seemed uneasy. Suddenly a figure moved in a room at the very end of the long hall.

Sherlock saw it right off the bat. "Joan," he said, his eyes not straying from the door. "Stay here. I'll check it out."

"No," she replied, slightly surprised at him using her first name. "Something might happen."

"And what if something does happen?" he said in a low voice "Better one of us than two." He looked her in the eyes and realized that she wasn't going to give in no matter what he said. "Fine."

They both walked into the room. Nothing. No one. It was completely empty except for a lonely rectangular table on the far side of the room.

"What...?" Joan began, when suddenly there came the sound of a door lock clicking.

Sherlock spun around to see the figure pulling down the shades of the door window. "Tim."

The figure laughed. It was an evil, sick, twisted laugh. Deep and barely audible. "It looks as if you figured me out, Holmes. Too bad the truth will never be told."

"I told you to wait outside," Sherlock hissed to Joan.

There was a metallic thud. "Cuff yourself to her," Tim ordered.

Sherlock slowly reached down and felt around for the handcuffs. He picked them up and was about to fasten them when he hesitated. "What happens if I don't?"

There was the sound of a bullet clicking into place. "I'll shoot her."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and resumed fastening the cuffs. "I see."

A hand that he could not see shoved them forcefully down onto the cold, hard floor. "Sit." As if they had a choice.

"Would you mind turning on the lights?" Sherlock asked in a desperate attempt to ease the fear and tension swirling inside him. "It's quite dark in here."

"Why in the world would I do that for the man who brought death to my brother?" Tim said, a swelling anger in his voice.

Suddenly Sherlock realized who _exactly_ this man was. No. It couldn't be him. "Why did you kill Wayne Phillips?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"He was only a tool," Tim replied. "You're so predictable. When I heard you were working with the NYPD, I saw the perfect opportunity to have my revenge. I made a case for you, made sure you were on it. I knew you would take this case. And I knew you would want to show off once you found out I did it."

"Sherlock, what's he talking about?" Joan whispered to him.

"And what do you plan to do with me?" Sherlock asked Tim. "Now that you've caught me."

"Kill you," he replied. "In fact, I'm doing it right now. This whole room is being pumped full of cyanide."

"But why kill Phillips?" Sherlock asked. "Or does killing innocent people just run in the family?"

Tim slapped him with the barrel of his gun before walking into a separate room.

"Sherlock," Joan asked with worry. "Why is-"

"He's telling the truth," Sherlock interrupted. "I figure better now to tell it all, considering we'll be dead soon. I killed his brother in cold blood. But he had it coming."

"What?" Joan asked in shock. "When? Why?"

"His brother was a serial killer back in London. The homicide unit of Scotland Yard was staking him out. Had him surrounded in an alley-way. I was a few blocks away at the time. He pulled out a gun. Three shots, three hits. Alan Peters, shot in the upper arm; Scarlet Taylor, shot in the jugular, killed within minutes; and..." His voice caught.

"Sherlock, was Irene the third person?" Joan asked softly.

He nodded, then remembered that she couldn't see him. "Yes. Except her name wasn't Irene. The day she started working there... almost all the staff messed up her name. Irene was her middle name, and she used it all throughout her school years. I called her that sometimes to annoy her. It was a game, if you will." He smiled briefly at the memory, then his face turned back to seriousness. "Shot in the head... went into a coma. Died two years later."

"I'm so sorry," Joan said. "Exactly how close were you?"

"We were engaged. Had-"

He was cut off by a door opening and footsteps. "Where is it!?" Tim asked harshly.

"Where is what?" Sherlock replied.

"The damn evidence!"

Sherlock paused. "I know where it is... but I'll only tell you if you let her go."

He hesitated, considering the situation. "Alright, but-"

"Wait!" Joan said. "Um, can we discuss something first?"

Tim sighed and went back into the room.

"What are you doing!?" Sherlock hissed.

"I won't go. You go instead."

He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Joan, listen to me. You are going to run, and you are going to run fast. Find Gregson. Get anyone who is still in here out. Tim would never let me leave in a million years. Don't worry about me."

Her chin trembled with sadness. "I can't just leave you here to die, Sherlock. I lo- ...care about you too much to do that."

He looked at her seriously. "I can't put myself ahead of someone _I_ care about. Not again."

At that very moment, Tim walked back in. "Hate to interrupt your little love fest, but have you made a decision?"

"Yes," Sherlock spoke up before Joan could argue. "If you let her go, I'll tell you where the evidence was moved."

"Alright," he said. "But try anything and she dies. And I don't mean Joan. I mean Jane."

Fear rushed through Sherlock's body. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Tim unlocked the cuffs and yanked Joan up roughly by her arm. He unlocked the door.

Joan quickly glanced back at Sherlock and noticed that his skin had a barely evident, yet still slightly visible, pinkish tint. He didn't have much longer.

"Go!" Tim yelled through his gas mask.

As soon as he turned his back, Joan , actually, was harder than expected. Why? She hadn't learned a lot on cyanide poisoning in medical school, as it wasn't a major topic. She tried to recall every detail from what she remembered.

"_Loss of consciousness preceded by weakness, headaches... victim progresses towards a deep coma... cardiac arrest."_

She pulled out her cell phone. "Gregson, something happened with Sherlock... and Jarson. Cyanide leak on the eighth floor. Sherlock's being held hostage. Yes. I'm on my way out right now."

When she got out the main doors, there were people everywhere. Apparently Gregson had done the task of getting the workers out of the building. The rest seemed to just be passer-by's looking for a little action. She filled the Hazmat team in as calmly as she could while the EMT's treated her, which, unfortunately, involved many needles. However inside her thoughts were being continually jumbled around, thinking about what Sherlock had told her. Who exactly was Jane?

"Ma'm?" the Hazmat worker asked.

"Sorry," Joan said. "What?"

"How many people did you say where in there?"

"Two," she replied. They went into the building and Joan pulled out her cell phone just as Gregson walked over.

"You okay?" he asked. Then he spotted the cell phone. "Don't bother. Jarson cut off cell usage,"

_Of course._ She let her head fall into her hands and softly started to cry. "Why?"

Gregson rubbed her back in an attempt to comfort her. "I didn't realize you two were-"

"We're not," Joan said.

Suddenly there came a sound of wheels spinning. Gurney wheels.

Joan got up and raced towards him. "Sherlock!" she called, praying there wasn't a black bag on the gurney. "No!" she screamed. "No! No! No!"

"Watson," Gregson cautioned, running after her. "Relax. It's not him."

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Look," he said, pointing to a second gurney.

And there was Sherlock.

"Sherlock," she said, trying to get closer.

"Miss, we're going to have to ask you to get back," one of the EMT's warned.

She took one last look at him. His eyes darted in every direction, but then suddenly latched onto her.

Sherlock swatted away the oxygen mask they were trying to put on him. "Where is Jane?"

"He's blacking out!"

Worry spread over her. Blacking out. Going unconscious. "Can you drive me?" she asked Gregson.

He nodded. They got into the car and began to follow the ambulance. But Joan's mind continually drifted. Who was Jane? Would Sherlock be okay? What else had he left in London?

* * *

**Hospital**

Joan raced over to the desk. "Where is he?"

"Ma'm, you're going to have to be a bit more specific," the woman said.

"Sherlock Holmes," Joan responded. "Where did they take him?"

The woman checked her records. "I.C.U. Room 231."

"Thank you," Joan said hurriedly.

"Wait!"

"What?" she asked.

"No cell phones."

Joan handed over her cell phone and rushed over to the room.

A doctor was in there. "Who would you be?"

"I'm Joan Watson," she replied. "How is he?"

His face turned solemn. "Shortly after Mr. Holmes was brought in, he slipped into a coma. There's no telling when he might wake up. It could be anywhere from a few hours to years."

A look of horror spread over Joan's face. Some never wake up.

The doctor left and Joan pulled over a chair, sitting at his side, stroking his hand. And then she remembered something. He had said he cared about her.

But was it too late?

* * *

**A/N: Ach! Please don't hate me!**

**On a lighter note...:**

**AMYGDALIFORM:**

**_Adjective; _Shaped like an almond.  
**

**POTVALIANCY:**

**_Noun;_ Brave only as a result of being drunk.  
**

**My spell-checker does not know these words. Stupid spell checker!**

* * *

**This chapter would not be possible without:**

**Wikipedia****- What would I do without it!**

**'cat lover' of Yahoo! Answers- Thank you for your smarticle answer.**

**My readers- YOU GUYS ROCK! KEEP THE REVIEWS COMING!**

**xxxxxxx**

**I just now realized this is the longest chapter I've ever written. Do NOT get used to it.**

**~Delila Jules**


	8. Writing Assignments, Joe, and What! ?

**A/N: I just want to apologize for the major typo in chapter 7. Yeah... a little secret that's not so secret? I'm pretty much the worst speller ever. I had originally typed 'pre-cynct', but the computer suggested 'cync' instead. I meant to say 'precinct'.**

**But yeah.**

**Sorry to Jen4850.**

**Now back to the story! (And rather quickly, cause I have a concert tonight!)**

* * *

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Jane opened the door to her new room at a new boarding school. Well, it wasn't entirely her's, since all boarders have room-mates. This new one's name was Nikki.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi," the boy standing in the doorway greeted. "I heard you just moved here. Settling in okay?"

She smiled wryly. "Yeah, great. Apparently you can't read, because this is the girls wing."

"Somebody's a sour puss," he joked. "Mind if I come in?"

"Actually, I do mi-" The boy walked in. "Hey! You can't just walk in here!"

"Sheesh! You really _don't_ recognize me, do you?"

"No..." Jane said with confusion.

"I'm in your writing class. My name is Joe."

"Is that how it is here? You see someone and have the right to barge into their room?" Jane asked.

Joe thought about this a moment. "I'm not really sure how I should answer that..."

She glared at him. "What you _should_ do is GET OUT!"

He held up his hands defensively. "Hey, no, wait. I wanted to talk to you about that one writing assignment. I was willing to help you on it."

"And what makes you think I need help?"

He shrugged. "Probably cause you just sat there for twenty minutes."

Jane smiled lightly. "Okay, fine. Maybe I was a _little_ stumped. Happy?"

Joe began clapping loudly. "Bravo, Janie! You don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

"Actually, I do." She threw a pillow at him. "My dad used to call me that. He left after my mum died. Not that it would stop you from calling me it anyway."

Joe scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I had no idea. So... about that writing assignment."

"Right," Jane said. "I got number six. An ex-boyfriend, a pair of binoculars, and a a good-luck charm."

"Sometimes it helps if you act it out," Joe continued. "Hey, want to come to my dorm? Max is out visiting all week."

She shrugged, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head. "Sure."

* * *

**Next Morning**

Jane snuggled into his side and inhaled his scent. She wasn't usually the kind to do something like this, but there was that scene with the ex-boyfriend and, well, one thing lead to another. They were just lucky no one had caught them. Yet.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Jane bolted up and suddenly realized something she should have realized a long time ago. This was wrong. No, this was more than wrong. She shook him awake. "Joe! Joe, get up, goddammit!"

"What?" he mumbled.

"For Christ's sake, put something on!" Jane hissed as she hurriedly put her own clothes back on.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Jane went over and opened the door. "Nikki?" she asked, confused. "How did you..."

"I saw you in the hall with him," Nikki explained. "There's a woman who came by looking for you. Said it was about something important."

"Who was it?" Jane asked.

"I dunno," Nikki replied.

"Well can you describe her?"

Nikki thought a moment. "Um... Let's see. Long black hair, Asian, really skinny."

"Hey, Jane!" Joe's voice called as Jane followed Nikki to their room. "Wait!"

"Joe, please!" Jane hissed. "Just leave me alone!" She continued to follow Nikki.

"Here," Nikki announced once they got there.

The woman which Nikki had described was standing at the far side of the room, her face solemn. She walked over to them and offered her hand to Jane. "Hi, I'm Joan Watson. Are you Jane?"

"Yes," Jane replied. "I am. And I don't shake hands."

Joan let her hand drop back at her side. "Look, I know this is going to sound strange, but I felt like I should do this. There's been an, um, accident."

Tension seeped quickly into Jane's body. Accident? There were several things that could be, none of them pleasant.

_"Janie, sweet heart, there's been an accident."_

Accidents never end well.

An expression of horror spread over her face and apparently Joe noticed it, for he was immediately at her side.

"What kind of accident?" she asked slowly.

Joan paused. "Maybe I should start at the beginning. I'm a sober companion. I work with recovering addicts." Was it a mistake to share this? No. This girl was obviously important to Sherlock. "While I was cleaning a couple of weeks ago, I found a stationary. And there were letters addresed to you. My client-"

"What is your client's name?" Jane asked.

"Sherlock Holmes," Joan replied. "He-"

A grim expression came over Jane's face. She pointed her finger at the door. "Get out."

"But-"

"I said get out!" Jane yelled, willing herself not to start crying.

Seeing defeat, Joan walked away from them, but stopped at the door. "It was cyanide poisoning. He's in a coma."

After she left, all Jane could think to do was cry. But she did not. She would not. Instead she just sank down onto her bed, covering her head with a pillow.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nikki asked gently.

Jane shook her head."Déjà vu."

"What?"

"Nothing," she murmured, drifting slowly off to sleep. "Nothing."

* * *

**A/N: There is you chapter. Special thank you to PhoenixGrifyndor, who left a review on almost every chapter. THANK YOU!**

**~Delila Jules  
**


	9. The Photo In His Wallet

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. Originally it was basically all memories, but I didn't like how it turned out so I decided to rewrite. Thanks for understanding.**

**Now back to the story (I also decided to change the image to the photo mentioned in this chapter cause I was getting bored of the regular image).**

* * *

"Hey," she said, sitting down in the chair beside him.

Silence. But that was to be expected. No surprise there.

It had been several weeks since that whole 'Tim' fiasco, and though she was still a bit uneasy, this was the worst of it all. It was torture. Asking all those question, thinking about what might have happened if she'd acting differently.

If she looked closely enough, she could see his eyes moving, as if he was dreaming. What did he dream about?

She looked out to the window, watching the cars pass by, when suddenly she heard rustling.

"Joan?"

It was quiet, so much so that you probably wouldn't hear it if the whole place itself weren't quiet also. But she still heard it. "Sherlock." A wave of happiness spread over her. After all this time, just waiting and hoping, finally _something._

"Where am I?" he asked, looking around.

"A hospital," Joan replied, pressing the nurse call button. "You went into a coma."

"How long?"

"A few weeks."

A nurse stepped into the room and...

* * *

**A/N: So yeah... about the little cut off thing? Here's a confession. I have never, ever been to a hospital with a two exceptions. 1) When I was born, obviously. 2) When visiting my great-grandmother and grandmother. Basically, only the old people section. (Yes, I'm aware there is some fancy name for it, since my friend has often corrected me, but I really don't feel like remembering it.) So I have no idea what they do when a person wakes up from a coma, and I don't really feel like looking it up. Just use you imagination, or if you already know, use that. Me? I'm just going to skip that part.**

* * *

"I'm honestly a bit surprised that you're here," Sherlock said once the hospital personnel had **(Again, don't know)**.

"Of course I'm here," Joan replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't you have another client?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "They made an exception because of these, um, _special_ circumstances."

"I see," he said.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Joan asked. 'You know, from that night."

"A gunshot. It was Tim shooting himself, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "That's what they think."

There was a pause. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I've been alright. It's you I was worried about."

He looked over at a table in him room, which had a pile of miscellaneous items on it. "You brought my things here?"

She blushed. "Only some."

"Is my wallet among them?"

Joan got up and sifted through the pile. "Um, yes." She brought it over. "Here."

He took it and reached inside the compartment in which most people keep there drives license or something like that, pulling out a small picture. It was old, but not old like black-and-white. It was worn, too, with the corners slightly frayed. The picture itself was of a young girl, her brown hair tied back with a few loose strands in the front and a wide grin across her face.

"Who's that?" Joan asked him.

He didn't answer.

"Sherlock, is that Jane?" she asked.

He looked back at her and nodded. "It was taken when she was about seven."

"There's something I should probably tell you, though," Joan admitted. "About a day or two after they took you to the hospital, I tracked her down and told her some of what happened."

"Why?" he asked with a look that seemed somewhere between disbelief and anger.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. She started yelling as soon as I said your name. Why is that?"

"We had a bit of a disagreement a few years ago," Sherlock replied. "Things haven't been the same since then. Just don't involve her in this, alright? If I know her at all, then I'm guessing she's _clearly_ shown you that she wants nothing to do with me, and perhaps that's better for her."

"Okay, then if you won't talk about Jane, at least tell me about why you keep a three year old newspaper."

"The obituaries page," he muttered.

She grabbed the newspaper and flipped it to the obituaries. "Which one is it?" she asked, her eyes scrolling the page. Suddenly she recognized a name.

_Gina Bennet_

_April 16, 1972 - August 21, 2010_

_She is survived by her mother, Louise, and a daughter, Jane. A dedicated officer of Scotland Yard for nearly 13 years,_

_Gina was one of the five people involved in the shooting of Dennis Lentini, who fired at a team of officers, wounding_

_three and killing one before being shot himself. This brings Lentini's kill count to 17._

_Gina is described as a very lighthearted person who could always get a laugh out of anyone around her._

There was other information, mostly funeral times and arrangements, but Joan didn't read on. "Jane is your daughter, isn't she?"

"You say that like you already knew," he observed.

"I kind of did," she replied. "It wasn't too hard to put two and two together. But how come you're not listed here? You said you were engaged."

He shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed. "My father is not as loving as some would think. He did not... approve of her, considering our families have been at rivalry for quite a while."

"Oh." That was all she could think of to say. How do you respond to something like this, anyway? "Wait, this says three wounded. You said two. Who was the third person?"

"Me," he replied calmly. "After them, of course."

Questions began brimming inside her head. _He was shot too? Where? Why didn't he tell me before?_

"You seem tired, Joan," he said softly. "Go home. Get some sleep. I'll be fine here."

Reluctantly, she walked towards the door. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"I don't doubt that."

* * *

She felt bad about just leaving him there, she really did. But honestly, he was right. She _was_ tired.

Except there was one more thing she needed to do. Look up Dennis Lentini.

* * *

Sherlock sat alone in the room. Alone. By himself. The perfect conditions to think.

Which is exactly what he needed to do. To think.

About Jane, about Joan, and about the dream.

_He woke up in a graveyard, the sun shining brightly overhead. He sat up. Where were Joan and Tim?_

_Suddenly he realized that this wasn't just any graveyard. He looked around for the familiar tombstone, running his fingers over its polished engraving. It was a reminder. Gina was dead. Gone._

_"Sher!" a voice called. He looked around for one of the two people who called him that. "Sher! Over here!"_

_And there she was._

_"Irene?" he said, running over to her. "Is it really you?" He tucked a strand of short brown hair behind her ear._

_She laughed. "Yes, its really me." Her expression suddenly changed, her eyes filled with concern. Those eyes. As deep and blue as the ocean. "What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?"_

_"What do you mean?" he asked._

_"You're so serious," she replied. "You don't let yourself enjoy anything. You don't act like you used to. Why is that?"_

_He thought about this. "I miss you too much," he said, sadness taking over. 'I would give anything just to be with you again."_

_"Even Jane?" Gina asked. "Sher, she needs you. Us? We'll see each other again someday. Cherish the time you have." She smiled wryly. "And for Pete's sake, wake up already! That Joan, she'll probably go crazy if you're out too much longer."_

_"But I want to be here with you," he said._

_"Okay, apparently this is going to be harder than I thought," she muttered to herself. "You still have things to do. Criminals to put away. I'm just waiting to see what happens next in the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. You're not done yet." Then everything began fading._

_"Wait, Gina-"_

* * *

**A/N: So I know Sherlock seems a little OOC in this chapter, but that might be purposeful. Might. Seriously, I wrote it and I'm not even sure. Just go along with it and review!**

**Next Chapter: Gunfire**

**So for those of you who hadn't already guessed, yes, Jane is his daughter. It's really quite cliche, but its what I'm best at.  
**

**Okay bye now! ! !**

**~Delila Jules**


	10. Gunfire

**A/N: Please see my question at the bottom!**

**Also: Did anyone else notice the little glitch in the episode with Joan's mom? In episode one it said she had no siblings, yet now she has a brother? Really?**

**CBS must be really forgetful.**

**Now back to the story!**

* * *

It had been several days, maybe even a week or two, since 'Joan' had come to the school, and nothing had really been the same for Jane since.

Sher had suddenly rushed back into her life with absolutely no warning of any kind, and now so had all her memories, thoughts, dreams of him. Sure, Alan would occasionally bring him up in the conversation, but she would always brush it off like he hadn't said anything. Now it seemed impossible.

Jane stepped out into the crisp, autumn air. Autumn had always been her favorite season, and fresh air with some music was the right medicine for almost anything. And she was willing to do exactly that to put a stop to the seemingly endless stream of words filling her mind.

She walked briskly over to her favorite hiding spot, the gardens, letting her hand skim over the tall hedge which guarded the paradise from the sadness of the world beyond it. It was easy to get lost in the rich mass of flowers, trees, and shrubs. Plus the staff were pretty good about letting her stay.

_"What a shame. Her dying with a little one..."_

Jane covered her ears and walked faster down the shaded path, desperate for some peace.

_"She's got her mother's looks and her father's attitude..."_

She turned a right and pushed the gate open, hurling herself at the trunk of the large crimson-king maple. She climbed up to her favorite branch, the one shaped like a 'y'. It's cool bark felt nice against her cheek, and she was just about to close her eyes when a voice startled her.

"Good evening, Jane." It was Ben, one of the gardeners.

"I wish it was," she muttered.

"Another rough day?"

Jane nodded and hopped down from the tree. "I think I'll just take a walk."

She made her way along the rain-weathered path to the statue. It was a lonely little thing, once a lion but had gotten a chunk knocked off somewhere along the way. She felt unusually drawn to it for some reason. _Maybe I just like lions,_ she thought to herself.

_"She's her father's daughter,"_ That was the last straw.

"NO!" Jane screamed, running back in the direction of the main building. "No! I'm not! He left me! _He_ left me there! He left me there all alone and I'll never forgive him!" She closed her eyes and kept running when a firm pair of arms caught her in their grasp.

"Jane," the person said softly. It was Joe. Of course.

"Let go," she muttered as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You're angry," he observed.

"No shit!" she yelled. "Now let me go!"

"Only if you promise not to run."

"Fine," she huffed. "Now PUT ME DOWN!"

Joe set her feet gently on the pavement and slipped his hand into hers. "C'mon," he said, guiding her in the direction of a different building.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Just follow me," he replied simply.

"Yeah, like I have a choice," Jane muttered as he dragged her along.

They entered the main hall and Joe swung a right. The gym.

Joe walked over to a far end of the room and picked up two sticks, tossing one to Jane.

"Is there a specific reason you just gave me a lacrosse stick?" Jane asked.

"Well, you're angry," Joe explained. He picked up a ball. "Now, I'm no jock or anything, but sometimes when I feel like I want to tear someone's face off with my bare hands, this helps me get rid of my frustration." In one swift, quick move, Joe flung the ball at the wall of painted brick, making a loud echo throughout the entire room. "Now you try."

Jane repeated Joe's example, driving all of her anger into the stick. She closed her eyes, hearing the satisfying thunk.

"Remind me never to get you angry," Joe said in slight astonishment.

"Why?" Jane asked.

He held up the lacrosse ball. " 'Cause you kind of broke it."

Jane laughed, getting a new ball out of the crate. It was, in fact, the first time she had laughed since Joan had shown up and all the memories flowed back in. "You don't exactly come off as the type to tear someone's face off with your bare hands."

A smile crept onto his face. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

Jane threw the ball once again. "Try me."

"Well-"

_Boom!_

The sound of shattering glass rang through the air, and in an instant Joe had shoved Jane onto the floor. "Stay down," he whispered, looking cautiously around.

Jane peeked up as well. Several shards of glass, some large, some small, layed on the floor below what used to be a small window. "Joe," she said quietly, leaning up a bit.

"I said stay down," he repeated. He looked warily at the window and grabbed Jane's arm. "Go."

They crawled quickly across the floor, careful to stay out of sight of anyone who may have been looking through the windows.

"You'd think it would attract more attention," Jane commented, noticing that there were no people outside.

"Are you kidding?" Joe said. "I honestly don't know of anyone but me who goes to the gym during this period."

"Good point."

Joe slowly stood up and started to run, towing Jane along with him. "Stay behind me."

"You realize we probably look like a bunch of idiots, right?" she said.

"Oh, so you'd prefer the alternative?" Joe asked harshly.

"And that would be...?" she questioned.

"Getting shot!"

She yanked her arm away. "Joe, stop! You're over-reacting! For all you know, it could've been a brick that came through that window!"

"And for all _you_ know, it could've been a bullet!"

Three more shots rang out into the air and the two teens found themselves ducking out of instinct.

Joe opened his mouth to speak, but Jane held up a finger to silence him. "Not now. We need to get to somewhere safe."

"Such as...?"

They heard a door opening. "Bennet! Fry!" It was one of the teachers. "Get in here!"

The two walked hurriedly into the room. "Are you okay?"

Jane nodded. "Yes, Ms. Reed."

"Just a little spooked," Joe added.

Reed got up, closed the blinds, and turned off the light switch. "Okay, just stay down."

"Watch a bit too many cop shows lately?" Joe joked. Jane elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "What? I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"We should probably call the police," Jane stated.

"First, explain what happened," Reed said.

The pair described the encounter, leaving out the part about the garden.

There was a pause. "Are you _sure_ it was a gunshot?" Reed asked.

"It sure _sounded_ like a gunshot," Joe said. "Can't think of anything else it might be. How do you know so much about this cop stuff?"

Reed bit her lip. "I used to be an FBI agent." She turned to Jane. "Do you have any clue _why_ the two of you were shot at?"

Jane shook her head. "Not even close to a clue. Couldn't it just be a stray round?"

"At that height? They'd have to aim from a downward angle, and the only place high enough for that is about 350 yards away. Only a sniper could do something like that."

Jane's face fell ashen. "So you think who ever did this is after one of us?"

"Well I don't think it's random."

She and Joe exchanged glances. "But which one of us?"

"Do either of you know of any reasons someone would be after you?"

"My..." Jane began. "Um, acquaintance... he got poisoned with cyanide a few weeks ago. I'm not sure of the details, though."

"What's his name?" Reed asked, pulling out her phone.

"Sherlock Holmes," she said quietly.

"He was held hostage by someone named Tim Lentini."

"Lentini?" Jane asked, fear filling her expression.

"Yeah. Younger brother of Dennis Lentini." Reed's eyes scanned over the page. "Oh. He-"

"Don't say it." Suddenly Jane's phone began to vibrate. She pulled it out. "New message."

"From who?" Reed asked.

"I dunno." She opened up the test and instantly a look of horror spread over her face.

Joe was the first to notice and he glanced at the text. "What the..."

"Russian," Jane said. "A poem translated from English about how death follows a person everywhere. The last line... 'You're next, it has to be...'"

"Please tell me that's some kind of weird chain letter," Joe whispered.

She shook her head. "This is _way_ to freaky to be a coincidence."

"What's the number?" Reed asked. "I can track it." Jane reeled off the number and she called someone, telling them what the number was and to trace it. "Dammit!"

"What is it?"

"The number is from a burn phone," Reed said. "Jane, I highly suggest that you go into protective custody. A safe house. Something. I can have someone come here."

Jane nodded hesitantly. "But what about Joe? Who ever is after me might-"

"I'll be fine," Joe said.

"No. You could be in just as much danger as I'm in."

He chuckled. "Yeah, right."

"We should still probably put you under protection, too," Reed said to Joe. "As a precaution." With that, she placed a call to someone and a black Ford pulled up to the back door. She ushered to two quickly into it and they drove off.

"Where are we going?" Jane asked the driver, a thin-haired man of about fifty.

"A safe-house," he replied.

"Where?"

"I can't say," he said, not irritatedly.

Jane huffed in annoyance and shrank back into her seat. The ride continued in silence, none of them speaking to similar thoughts filling their heads.

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Ivan lowered his sniper rifle away as the girl and her friend disappeared into the building. This was not the best thing to happen when Jackson could call any-

_Ring!_

Great. Just great. He flipped the phone open. "Hello?" he said in a gruff voice.

"Did you locate the girl?" Jackson asked.

"Yes," Ivan told his boss. "I was not able to complete the task, however. But I _will_ track her down."

"You'd better. Otherwise you'll be short ten grand."

"Yes sir, I understand." He hung up, tossed the phone on the ground, and flattened it to pieces with the heel of his boot.

He could see the money already.

* * *

**A/N: MWAHAHAHA!**

**Also: I'm in the process of writing chapter thirteen right now, and I have a question. Well, technically two questions.  
**

**1.) So what do you all think of Joe? One of my friends called him quote: "Weak and pathetic".  
**

**2.) Should I pair him and Jane? I'm pretty sure it would be pretty good for creating some tension, but I wanted to get your guys' input first. YOUR REVIEWS will literally decide his fate, since if the answer is no, I will most likely kill him off.  
**

**His entire life rests in your hands, or in this case, REVIEWS.  
**

**Second also: Shout out to Jen4850, who was the ONLY person to review my last chapter. *tsk, tsk* What has gotten into you people.  
**

**Well, a good kill always spikes reviews, now doesn't it?  
**

**Keep that in mind, for if I see no lacking I won't have to kill any of the main characters.  
**

**After all, I have made myself an opportunity, now haven't I?  
**

**P.S. First person to find the symbolism with the lion statue WINS!  
**

**~Delila Jules  
**

**REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!  
**

**Yes, click that little button down there and type something in. Anything. Well, almost anything. You can't just type 'pie' in there. Unless you type something relevant, too. But not my point.  
**


	11. Have A Cry

**A/N: Surprise! Another Jane chapter! I know, I usually alternate, but this is what my mind came up with. Enjoy!**

* * *

Things were changing, as Jane knew they obviously would, because really, when does getting shot at not make things change? And they were changing fast. She knew that she would have to change her appearance in order to go safely out into public again, but a haircut? No thank you. She had always prided her hair, which was incredibly long and straight as an arrow, which had often made others envious.

But this was necessary.

"Ready?" Reed asked. She had been nice enough to come over, Jane not trusting either of the boys to come near her neck with a pair of scissors.

She nodded. "As much as I'll ever be." She closed her eyes, wincing internally every time the scissors snipped shut.

"You can look, you know," Reed said. "And the flinching doesn't exactly help."

"Sorry," Jane murmured. She stole a small glance at the floor, quickly closing her eyes again.

Reed began to softly hum a strange melody, trying to distract the girl as locks of her dark brown hair fell lifelessly to the floor with each snap of the scissors. "Almost finished." _Snip_. "Done."

Jane opened her eyes and looked at Reed. "Can I see it?"

"Sure. Let me go get a mirror." She walked off towards the bathroom.

Jane reached up and let her fingertips graze over her now ear-length hair, tears filling her eyes.

"Hey Jane!" Joe called, walking back through the front door. He held up a small box. "Look what I got for you."

It was a package of hair dye, the picture of a smiling woman with caramel-coloured hair on the front.

"No."

His smile faded. "Why not? It would be the perfect cover."

"Because I would look exactly like her!" Jane shouted, yelling internally at herself not to cry.

"Like who?" Joe asked.

"My mum!"

"Oh," he said softly, going to her side and sliding his hand into her's. "You never talked much about her other than saying she's dead. What happened?"

"She's not just dead, Joe, she was killed. Shot in the head. I still have the obituary. Her hair was that colour, except she always wore it-"

"As short as her ears?" he finished.

She nodded and let out a small whimper of pain.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asked, drawing her closer.

"I'm biting my cheek so I don't cry!" she mumbled.

"Well stop. I don't like to see you in pain," he said. "Why don't you want to cry?"

"I just don't cry."

"Why not?"

"Because it's pointless!" she yelled, tears tugging at her eyes. "If crying would bring her back, believe me, I would have tried. But it doesn't, okay!? She's gone and I'll never be able to have her back, no matter what I do! Crying won't change what happened, so why do it at all!?"

"You're right," Joe said after a pause. "Crying won't change the past, but sometimes it helps ease the pain. Just have a cry, Jane."

"No."

"C'mon."

"No," she repeated, but even as she said it, she felt fresh, hot tears stream down her face and just like that, all the emotion she had hidden away for nearly three years rushed out of her in a huge wave. She let herself go as limp as a rag doll in his arms, burying her face into his shirt. "I saw the whole thing, Joe!" she cried. "Sher, he tried to turn it off before it came on, but he was too late!"

"Wait, Sher?" Joe asked. "Like Sherlock? Is Sher the person Joan was talking about?"

Jane nodded.

"And you lived with him"

"Well yes. Didn't I already tell you that I was born out of wedlock?"

"I don't even know what that means."

"He's my father," Jane said.

Joe blinked in disbelief. "You told me your father left you after your mom died."

"He did."

He looked back at the hair dye. "I guess I'll go get a different colour."

She sat up and sniffled a little bit. "See? All crying does is getting me all worked up."

Joe smiled. "Well I certainly couldn't let you explode."

She looked up at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Everybody knows you explode when you don't cry."

"You're lying."

He smirked. "Am I?"

* * *

Reed smiled, her hands hovering near the towel. "On the count of three. One,"

"Two," Joe said.

"Three," Jane finished. Reed lifted up the towel and Jane gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Joe began laughing. "You look like a peach!"

"Hey, it was your idea to dye it orange!"

"Whatever..." _Thwack!_ "OW! What the hell was that for!?"

"Comparing me to a peach!"

Reed suddenly glanced at her watch. "Gosh! I have to go!" She grabbed hr coat and raced towards the door.

"Bye!" Jane called over her shoulder. Now it was just the two of them. She looked up, tucking a strand of peach-coloured hair behind her ear. "You think she would be proud of me?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"Who, Reed?"

"No, you idiot!" Jane said. "My mum. Sometimes... I wonder what she'd be like now. What she'd think of me."

He thought about this for a moment. "She would be proud of you, Jane. And your dad probably is, too."

Jane got up and grabbed her iPod, glancing at its clock. "Goodnight, Joe."

"G'night, Jane."

She hooked the device up to a speaker and took out her laptop. The was still one more thing she needed to do.

"You have mail!" the automated computer voice recited excitedly, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

She clicked it open and the words 'New Blog Comment' appeared. And speaking of her blog, it _was_ time to post the next installment. "Well then, let's get on with it," Jane said to herself. She had two escapes: music and writing. She had created her blog a few years ago using the pseudonym Genevieve Monroe. Bella Hawking, the main character in the installments (who may or may not have been molded together using pieces of Jane herself and also a few characters from an old 40's radio show known as 'The Voyage Of The Scarlett Queen'), who was constantly getting herself into, er, sticky situations.

Now, slowly, she began.

_Previously on The Continuing Adventures Of Bella Hawking:_

_The sound of echoing footsteps filled the dark hallway and mystery man opened the large steel slab of a door. Bella sat there, huddled in a corner with a semi moth-eaten quilt wrapped around her shoulders._

_"You, Bella Hawking, will soon learn that there are consequences for your actions."_

_She gave sarcastic smirk. "Try me."_  
Installment 18  
Bella's eyes focused on the bottom of the door frame where a small amount of light seeped underneath. _How will I get out of here?_  
Suddenly the door opened again and she was pulled roughly up by her elbow. Whoever it was placed a blindfold over her eyes and the next thing she knew, she was seated in a hard wooden chair and the blindfold removed. On the other side? Mystery man, a.k.a Constantino.  
"Good evening, Ms. Hawking."  
"You should tell your brutes to use better care on your captives," she growled, rubbing her elbow.  
"Apparently you have misunderstood," he said. "You are not a captive. You're free to go whenever you like."  
"Really?" Bella asked in annoyance. "Well then I guess I'll leave then." She stood up and walked towards the door.  
"I just thought you might want to see your sister."  
She glared at him. "My sister is dead. You killed her."  
"Did I?"-

-X-

The door to Jane's room suddenly opened and she jumped. "Joe! What are you thinking!? I could've been naked!"

He smiled. "Honestly... I wouldn't mind that."

"Joe Fry, you are a sick and perverted individual," Jane commented.

"Thank you," he said, taking a small bow. He peered at the laptop. "Whatcha got there?"

She pulled it away from his view. "Stuff."

He moved closer to her. "Oh, stuff. I like stuff. What kind of stuff is this stuff?"

She closed the laptop. "Just a little story I write in my spare time. Now go away. I'm tired and I want to go to sleep.

"Right, because that's _exactly_ what you were doing before I walked in."

She stuck her tounge out at him.

"Fine, I'm going." He shut the door and went to his room for a few minutes before going back to Jane's room. She was beautiful when she was asleep, like an angel. A strip of orange hair covered one of her eyes. She turned and moaned slightly in her sleep and Joe smiled. "Night, fuzz."

* * *

**A/N: Please excuse for any spelling errors, for I am typing this on my NEW LAPTOP, which does not have spell check yet. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**

**Also: If any of you have read my profile, you'll know I am not entirely new to the world of online writing, and I wasn't new to it when I first started fanfiction. I used to go on a site called Quotev, and recently I started up on there again, however I still like this site better. Why? Because I get more readers. To date, I have only gotten EIGHT READERS on my Quotev story. EIGHT! So do you think maybe you could check it out and tell me what you think? I would really appreciate it. Its called "Lunar Eclipse" and again the site is called Quotev. Thanks again.**

**~Delila Jules**

**Merry Christma- Hanna- Kwanzaka!**

**(An acquaintance of mine came up with that, so if you hate it, don't yell at me)**

**REVIEWS ALWAYS APPRECIATED! ! ! ! !**


	12. Searching

**A/N: So yeah... on chapter 14. My writing binder is at home so I can't update my other stories. So I thought, hey, why not? Anyways... It's been way long since I updated anything, and I apologize for that.**

* * *

Things were much more tense back at the old brownstone, and even though it wasn't too hard to figure out why, it was making things rather... difficult. Joan _had_ thought about contacting Jane again, not that she would ever admit that to Sherlock. Not after what happened last time.

He tried to make it seem like seeing her was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, and maybe that was somewhat truthful, but Joan knew otherwise. Why else would he send her letters?

She softly knocked on his door. "Sherlock?" No answer. That either meant he was still asleep or just wasn't in the mood to talk. Or both.

Sighing, she went into the kitchen and hastily scrawled down a note for him:

_Went to run an errand.  
Will be back soon.  
-JW_

Well it wasn't really a lie.

She stuck the note on the fridge with a magnet and hurried off to finish what had been started. Yes, most would probably say she was overstepping her limits, and they would probably be right. Yes, there was a chance that her actions could only make both Sherlock and Jane _more_ angry at her. But that was a chance she was willing to take. She knew what it was she needed to do. She needed to go back to the private school and find Jane.

Joan shut the door of her care and walked briskly up the weathered stone stairs. She gave a sharp tug at the large door of the main building and it opened with a loud creak, revealing a large polished stone hallway. "Hello?" she called, peering inside the doorway of the Head-Master's office.

He looked towards her and gave a friendly smile, walking over. "Watson, right?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"You came in the other day, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did," she replied. "I need to speak to Jane again. Do you know where she is?"

He checked a few things on his computer. "Actually, I don't. She left a few days ago."

_Left?_ "Well do you have any idea where she went?" Joan asked.

"Once they leave, I have no jurisdiction over them. She's off our radar," he explained, giving a slight shrug of apology. "You could try asking around, but I can't guarantee anything."

She murmured a word of thanks and stepped back outside the office. A few people roamed the grounds, mostly just going from one place to another, or so it looked. Suddenly a woman came over to the stairs, visibly uneasy and in a rush, her eyes darting from side to side. One of the teachers, maybe? "Excuse me," Joan called. "Miss!"

The woman looked up and her demeanor instantly change. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't notice you there."

"Are you one of the teachers here?" Joan asked her.

She held out her hand. "Yes. I'm Meredith Reed. And you are?"

"Joan Watson," she replied. "Um... I need to ask you about one of your students. Jane Bennet."

"Why? What about her?" Reed asked anxiously.

"I was informed that she left. I need to contact her."

A sad look came across Reed's face. "I'm sorry," she said, looking Joan seriously in the eyes and pressing a piece of paper into her palm. "But I don't know where she is." And with that, she hurried off to where ever it was she was originally going.

Joan examined the slip of paper she was given. It was an address to a post-box. But why would Reed lie about knowing something about Jane, yet give her this? It didn't make any sense. But whoever she was, Meredith Reed was hiding something.

What was it, though? Now _that_ was the million dollar question.

* * *

Joan closed the door as quietly as she could, just in case Sherlock was still asleep. Okay, granted, sleeping till noon was not a habit of his, but sometimes habits slip.

"I saw your note," a voice said from behind her.

She whirled around. "Sherlock," she breathed, calming once she saw who it was. "You spooked me."

"Sorry about that, then," he muttered. "Where is it you went off to?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, trying to avoid a lecture.

"I would think so," he said. "So where did you go?"

"Well if you must know, I went to see someone."

He tensed up. "Who is this someone?"

Joan gave him a look. "None of your business."

"I believe it is my business, Joan." She wasn't completely used to him using her first name quite this often. "I have to make sure you're not contacting anyone you're not supposed to."

_Ugh, why won't he just let me help him!?,_ she thought to herself. "I didn't. Now bug off." She stormed over to her room and pulled out her laptop as well as the slip of paper. "That's strange," she murmured. "The name on the lease is... Meredith Reed." Okay, this was getting weirder by the minute. "What isn't she telling?" Joan went on searching for maybe twenty minutes or so before putting the laptop away and going to the kitchen to find Sherlock sulking in one of the chairs, his eyes looked blankly at one of the walls. "You okay?" she asked.

He turned around. "What? Oh, yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She sat down across from him. "You don't seem fine."

"I was just thinking, that's all."

Joan looked down at the floor awkwardly. "Look, I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier. I guess I just had a lot on my mind."

"You don't have to apologize, Joan. I was over-reacting," he replied. "I just didn't want to put her through anymore drama than she's already been through."

_Great,_ Joan thought. _Way to make me feel guilty._ "You want some coffee?" she asked, trying to switch topics.

He looked at her strangely. "Sure, I guess."

Joan got up. "Okay then. Coffee it is."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so could you guys do something for me?**

**If you can would you please include favorites in your reviews? (Favorite character; scene; chapter; line/quote) Also: How do you think I should end this. I'm honestly clueless.  
**

**Thanks again!  
**

**~Delila Jules  
**

**REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!  
**

**C'mon, I spend hours here at the computer listening to my grandma drone on about bluegrass all day, can't I at least get a review for all my effort? Please...?  
**

**I'll give you a piece of candy... (kidding)  
**

**Since I do not get paid in money, your reviews are my payment.  
**

**Please just let me know what you think. I love hearing from my fans :)  
**

**I have 29... WHO WILL BE MY 30TH REVIEWER?  
**

**IS IT YOU?  
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	13. Oh, She Can Fight Too ?

**A/N: Well...This is chapter 13. It's a bit of a filler, though. Sorry about not updating for who knows how long. I honestly haven't been on here for a while. I missed you all!  
**

**Yeah, but you can thank the guest reviewer on _Visionary._ Just today I realised how long it's been. Again, sorry! But I would love some reviews!  
**

**ENJOY!  
**

* * *

~2 Days Later~

The sweet melody of piano music filled the room as Joe pushed open the door. "Didn't tell me you played piano," he commented.

"Sorry, but I didn't realize it was my obligation to tell you every aspect of my personal life," Jane smarted off, not looking up from the piano keys.

"Fine, then I guess I _won't_ give you the thing Reed had for you."

Her head snapped up, eyes full of curiosity. "What thing?"

"Nope."

"Give me it!" She reached for whatever he was holding, but he moved out of the way. "Joe!"

"Not a chance!" he shouted, ducking as a, well _something_, flew past his head. "Right, because throwing stuff at me _definitely_ makes me want to give it to you."

The two of them stood there for what was probably only a few minutes at most, eyes locked on each other like jaguars about to pounce. With one quick move, Jane lunged at Joe, knocking him onto the floor. "You have exactly five seconds to give me whatever it is Reed told you to give me before I make this situation a lot more painful for you. Five..."

"How about you get off of me first?" Joe grunted.

"Four..."

"Alright!" he said, fishing an envelope out of his pocket. "Here."

She tore it open and held the letter in front of her, her eyes scanning over the page. After about a minute, she tossed it carelessly onto the table, giving Joe a hard punch.

"What was _that_ for!?" he asked, rubbing his arm.

"For making me think it was important."

"What was it?" Joe asked.

"A letter," Jane said with a tone of annoyance. "from Joan. Remember her?"

He nodded. "What's it say?"

Jane shrugged. "Just things like she'd like me to contact her. Nothing really important."

"Are you going to?" Joe asked her.

She raised an eyebrow. "Now why would I do that?"

"I dunno."

Jane twisted the ring on her finger nervously as an awkward silence filled the room. "Well then..."

"Um..."

She scrambled her mind for something to say, anything really. "Hey, wanna go down to Coney Island?"

Joe smiled. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"You're kidding, right?" he said. "It's about a half an hour away."

"So?"

He shrugged. "It just might not be the safest thing to-"

"Good God, Joe!" Jane said. "You've already morphed me into a life-sized troll, what _more_ can you do!?"

"You have a point," Joe commented. "But what made you decide Coney?"

She glanced at him. "Do you _really_ want to know?"

"Why else would I ask?"

Jane sighed. "I guess I just can't stand being cooped up in this place anymore. Then I remembered this movie and..."

"What movie?" he asked.

She smiled. "No. You're going to laugh if I tell you."

"Will not."

"Uptown girls," she mumbled, blushing slightly.

Joe's mouth turned up into a smile and a small laugh escaped his lips.

"See! I knew you would laugh!" Jane shouted.

"I didn't laugh!" he responded, his grin growing wider.

"Did so!"

"It was a_ chuckle_," Joe corrected.

"Still counts!"

"Does not!"

"Whatever," she scoffed. "Point is, are we going or not?"

He thought this over in his mind. "Eh, why not?"

Jane grinned and grabbed her bag. "Great, let's go then."

"Uh, aren't you forgetting something?" Joe asked her.

She looked around. "I don't think so. Why?"

"How are we gonna get there?"

Jane gazed at him in somewhat between false pity and mockery. "Poor Joe. Lived in New York City all your life and still don't know what a taxi is for." She walked out the door.

"Oh," he said slowly. "Hey, wait!"

* * *

"No way." Jane stood firmly on the walkway, crossing her arms over her chest.

"C'mon, Jane," Joe pleaded. "You honestly didn't just expect to ride that one ride, did you?"

She bit her lip. "Maybe..."

"Haven't you ridden a roller coaster before?" She said nothing. "You haven't..." He grabbed her by the waist and carried her to the line.

"JOE! I will absolutely NOT-"

"Um, you're next," the worker said. "She okay?"

Joe nodded. "Perfectly fine. This is normal for her." They got in and soon the ride took off.

"JOE, I'M GONNA FREAKING KILL YOU IF WE DON'T DIE ON THIS!"

He laughed. "Relax, we're not gonna die!"

"SHUT UP!" She started screaming again and didn't stop untill they got off.

"Woah," Joe said, steadying Jane as she swayed from dizziness.

She glared at him. "You're so dead."

"Go on one more?" he asked, smiling.

She shook her head. "Nu-uh. Hell no."

"I'll give you a present if you do."

"What kind of present?"

"A good one." Before she could object, he pulled her to another line.

* * *

"I'm going to go get a smoothie. Want anything?" Jane asked after the two had gotten used to the feeling of steady ground again.

He shook his head. "No thanks."

"M'kay." She got up and headed towards the little kiosks.

Joe sat on the bench, drumming on his leg. He wanted to go with her, but if he knew anything about Jane at all, it was that she wouldn't tolerate being baby-sat. After a few minutes, he looked over at the direction she had walked in and saw her arguing with two men. "Jane!"

She looked over at him and one of the men grabbed her wrist.

Joe walked up to him, glaring. "Let go of her now or-"

"Or what, boy?" the man asked. His voice was slurred and his breath smelled of alcohol. "You must think you're so tough."

In a flash of anger, Joe attacked the man, sending him onto the ground. He kicked the man repeatedly.

"Joe!" Jane screamed just before the second man clamped a hand over her mouth.

He looked away from the first man and over at Jane, but before he could do anything, the man let out a yelp of pain.

Jane spun around and pressed the man's face against the wall, pulling his arm behind his back. "Touch me again, I'll kill you. Understood?"

He nodded hastily and she let him go after slapping him hard enough to leave a mark.

"Joe! C'mon!"

* * *

"Well _that_ was pleasant," Joe said sarcastically. His voice was bitter.

"What, you think I set the whole thing up on purpose?" Jane asked, glaring at him.

"Well..." She jabbed him in the side. "Hey, I was kidding! Chill out!"

Jane said nothing, just kept walking along the sidewalk. "What now?"

"Pizza?"

"No." She stopped, starring out into space. "C'mon."

"What?" he asked.

"Lowe's."

"Um... why?" Joe asked, yet not protesting.

"I want paint," she stated.

"Again, why?"

Jane smirked. "Oh, you'll see."

**What do you think she does with the paint?**

**Reviews please!**

**And I don't know when I'll be updating again, I'm not chapter 14 and still need to figure out how everything is going to work.**

**~DJM**


	14. Ivan

**HORRAY!**

**SCHOOL IS OUT!**

**SO GUESS WHO'S UPDATING?**

**THIS GIRL.**

**And obviously because CBS whacked up my whole plan, this is now AU. I think...**

**Review please...**

* * *

**Precinct**

It had been a rather slow day, oddly no murders at all. In fact, some were getting ready to leave even though it was only halfway through the day.

That is, untill a call came in.

"Hello, this is captain Gregson speaking," he answered.

"Well, I don't know any other way to say this sir... but there might be a hit man in New York City. And if he is here, he's after someone," the caller said quietly.

"Who is it?" Gregson asked.

"I don't know who he's after... but I think his name is Ivan, and he's Russian. My boss, he was talking to someone on the phone in Russian. He's hired him to kill someone."

"What's your boss's name?"

"Jackson-" Suddenly footsteps could be heard.

"Morgan, what are you doing?" a voice asked in the background.

"Nothing, sir. Just making a call to an old friend," the caller replied.

There was a pause. "Well do that on your own time. Or else you'll be out of a job."

"Yes sir." There was another pause. "His name is Jackson Prothero. He's pretty rich, you shouldn't have a hard time finding out about him."

"Morgan!"

"Sorry sir." The line cut off shortly after. Gregson sighed and put his head in his hands, then got to looking up Prothero. It wasn't every day they got something about a hit man, especially not hit men from Russia. Maybe a few here and there when it came to the mob, but that was about it. And if someone had hired him all the way from Russia, he was probably good. Really good. Meaning it would be difficult to track him down.

Jackson Prothero, apparently, was a very wealthy businessman- in fact the CEO, at that- of a large company based in London. Not a bad thing could be found about him. He was spotless, purely spotless. At least, on the outside. Obviously if he might be hiring a hit man, there was something bad about him.

And now Gregson just had to find it.

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Sherlock was back in one of his usual spots; all of the TVs on at the very same time. He had been feeling a bit dazed lately, possibly because of, well, everything that had happened in the past few weeks, and thought this would be exactly the kind of thing he needed to come back to his senses.

And that was when his phone started ringing. It was a text, from Gregson. "Joan, there's a crime scene," he announced, showing her the address.

"I never thought I'd say this, but thank goodness there's a murder," she said. And Joan's mood stayed this way. At least, untill she got there.

"Victim's name is Meredith Reed," Gregson said. "In her early 30's; music teacher at a local private school." Everyone at the scene looked a little bit troubled. There was something more to this murder; something bigger than any of them could imagine.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked Joan, causing her to snap out of her thoughts.

"Hm? Yeah, it's just... I saw her somewhere," she said. "There was something weird about her."

"We'll take it from here," a man said. By his vest you'd have to be an idiot not to know he was FBI.

"Wait, what's going on?" Gregson asked.

"She is- was- one of our undercover operatives," the man explained.

"Guess that's the 'something weird' about her," Sherlock said quietly.

"What kind of stuff was she involved in?" Gregson asked.

"That's classified."

He pulled the man to the side. "I received a phone call this morning concerning a Russian hitman... I just want to know if these two things are connected."

The man's face paled. "I need you to tell me everything."

Suddenly a young girl with an orange bob haircut darted out of no where. "Oh my gosh! What happened!?"

The man came beside her, asking her question after question before take her with them.

"Who was that?" Joan asked. The girl looked so familiar, but she just couldn't put her finger on it.

Sherlock, however, knew exactly who she was. He could recognise that face a mile away.

* * *

"Sherlock, it's 2 a.m, don't you think you've gone over this long enough for now?" Joan asked. Once again, the Brit was sitting among piles of papers.

"No," he said. "There is no long enough."

She sighed. "Then I'll help you." She sat down next to him. "What do we have here?"

Sherlock held up a picture of a man, who was wearing a tux and nearly bald. "Ivan Colnagio. Russian hitman. Wanted in half a dozen countries. I believe he is the one who killed Miss Reed. Where did you see her?"

Joan looked down. "I knew you told me not to, but... I went looking for Jane again. At her school. They said she'd left a while ago, and on my way out I bumped into Reed. She said she hadn't seen her, yet she handed me a post-box address. It was all really weird."

"She was protecting her..." Sherlock mumbled, realisation sweeping over him. "She was protecting Jane."

"You're not going to sleep any time soon, are you?" Joan asked, more of a statement than a question.

"A world class hitman is after my daughter! What do you think!?"

Joan gave him one last look and went off to bed. Yes, this was important, but being sleep-deprived would not have any benefits.

Just after she laid down, however, her phone began vibrating. It was an unknown number, but she answered it anyway. "Hello?"

"Joan, I need your help," the voice on the other end said. Despite the pouring of rain, the tone in her voice was very clear- she was scared.

"Jane? What's wrong?" Joan asked, instantly becoming more alert and pressing the record call button.

"Reed is dead! And someone is after me! I don't know what's going on, but I just have a really bad feeling and-" She stopped, and suddenly there was only muffled screaming. The phone fell down with a metallic clank but was soon hung up.

"Sherlock!"

* * *

**Hehehehehehe**

**Well, sorry I haven't updated in quite some time. Before school got out it was all FINALS FINALS FINALS and I had to put in extra effort so I didn't fail gym. (I'm really the only person I know who can find a way to fail GYM without trying.) And then I had VBS every night, which is when I'm my most creative.**

**Sadly, I do not know when I will be updating again. I've been trying to get my first book published. Like an actual book. And I'm sure all of you know how I suck at endings.**

**BUT tomorrow is my birthday, and even though I'm supposed to be all happy and stuff I'll still try to get some writing in. Maybe not on this story, but one one of them.**

**SO SINCE TOMORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY CAN I PLEASE HAVE SOME REVIEWS ON THIS CHAPTER OR ANOTHER CHAPTER? I KNOW IT SUCKS BUT PLLEEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSSEEEEE?**

**~Delila**


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